D
by kdntjb
Summary: Beca requests Aubrey's help with the piano. Shenanigans ensue.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This is just some mindless, hastily written out ficlet that was really meant to be a drabble. Of course, since tl;dr is my lifeblood, it got a little away from me. Shout out to rabidnar for inspiring the whole mess.

To comply to 's policy on explicit works, the second chapter of this fic has been watered down from a more explicit version hosted on Archive of Our Own.

* * *

"I still don't understand how this is possible," Aubrey said, leaning over the grand piano in the Bellas' Rehearsal Hall. "How does a person arrange songs like you when they aren't able to play any instruments?"

"I sing," Beca huffed in reply. "That was what I did for music class. Not everyone is a one-man orchestra like you."

"It's hardly an orchestra," Aubrey countered. "It's not even that many."

"_Seven_," Beca interjected. "You can play seven instruments. That's overachieving."

"Six," Aubrey corrected.

"Seven," Beca insisted.

"Seven? Who told you I could play seven?"

"Chloe did!" Beca said. "Flute, trumpet, saxophone, harmonica, violin, cello, piano."

"Oh," Aubrey said. "Piano doesn't count. Everyone plays the piano. That's like a default instrument."

"How is the piano a _default_ instrument?"

"Because it is," Aubrey said, frowning.

"You're going to count harmonica when you don't count piano," Beca deadpanned.

"I'm telling you, no one counts the piano. It's the instrument every one learns. Everyone knows the piano."

Beca threw her arms in the air in exasperation. "I don't!"

"That's why I'm so surprised," Aubrey said. "I would have though you owned one of those beaten up acoustic guitars, at least."

"Well, I dumped most of my allowances on stuff for my mixes." It had certainly felt well spent. All you had to do was look at the output of her laptop: files upon files upon files, all testament to the dedication with which Beca approached her dreams of becoming a music producer. "Look, I know the music theory…"

"You had a keyboard in your room," Aubrey interrupted. "It was next to your mixing board. I remember. You clearly know how to play the piano too."

"It's a keyboard," Beca said. When was Aubrey in her room? After that arrest way back? Well, she guessed than anyone waiting that long in one place would note some details about the scene. "I know what the notes are. It's easier to input them into the computer with a keyboard. I just, I can't play live — My hands don't really…"

"So you play the piano, but not particularly _well_," Aubrey said.

"I can't play!"

"Beca, _I'm_ the perfectionist here. You're not allowed to say you can't play the piano because you don't think it's good enough when you wouldn't push for the extra 10% timing down in our choreography."

"Are you _still_ upset about that? No one even noticed! Only _you_ noticed! We _won_, for cripes sake. And I'm pretty sure you were making the 'time lags' up."

"We were _off,_" Aubrey insisted. "I forgave you in that case because we won. If you're going to be anything, at least be consistent."

"Like you're consistently a pain?" Beca asked.

"_You're_ the one who called me here out of the blue," Aubrey said. "I still don't know why I'm here. So you could get your musical shame off your chest?"

"No…" Beca said. "Well, yes. Sort of." She sighed. "Look. I was wondering if you could help me out with my piano. Chloe says you're a regular virtuoso."

"Chloe was being polite," Aubrey said. "And speaking of Chloe, why isn't she your first choice of music instructor?"

"I, uh, tried to learn how to play her guitar, but my fingers weren't really feeling it so…"

"You quit?" Aubrey raised an eyebrow. "That's your problem, then, not the instrument. Just go back to Chloe and keep trying—"

"I _tried_!" Beca cut in. "I did! I tried for weeks. The guitar is not my thing. Definitely not."

Aubrey's face took on a tinge of something resembling sympathy. "Learning a new instrument is a difficult thing—"

"Clearly not if you've worked your way up to seven," Beca mumbled under her breath.

If Aubrey heard it, she ignored it. "—especially at your age."

"At my age? I'm _eighteen_!"

"And millions of synapse connections between your braincells have already died and withered away. That's why you're encouraged to start these things young."

"Yeah?" Beca said. "And how young were you?"

"Which time?" Aubrey said in what was clearly an instinctive response to an oft asked question. Hastily, she added, "But that's not the point."

"I don't know," Beca said, "the first time."

"Piano, age three," Aubrey said. "Wait! Hey, this isn't about me—"

"Violin," Beca said.

"Age six," Aubrey said. "Quit it! I—"

"Saxophone."

"Age eight," came Aubrey's automatic response. "Beca, seriously—"

"Cello," Beca said. She didn't pay much attention to Aubrey's next reply, instead, saying, "Oh my god, it's like some Pavlovian response, that's hilarious."

"You're doing a great job of endearing me to you right now," Aubrey said. "Sterling idea from the person who's asking for help."

"Sorry, sorry," Beca said, unable to totally wipe the smile from her face. Aubrey's cheeks were tinged with a delicate shade of pink that softened the attempted glare she was shooting in Beca's direction. "You must have really liked music, huh?"

"Children will like anything they're good at," Aubrey explained, a little tired, "and, at that age, enough practice can make you good at anything."

Beca frowned. "But, you had fun, right?"

"Eventually," Aubrey said. "Sure. Fun."

"I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," Aubrey said brusquely. "Fine. What was it you wanted?"

"Help with the piano." Beca recognised a request to change the topic when she saw one. God knew she'd given enough of them in her day. "I was hoping you'd give me lessons, pointers and stuff."

Aubrey gave her an appraising look, but eventually settled onto the piano stool. She patted the space next to her gently. "Fine, then. Come on. Let's see what you can do."

* * *

From then on, it became a regular appointment between them. The Bellas' Practice Hall was usually vacant now that the season was over. There were a few scarce get-togethers the girls would have to practice songs just for fun, or to bounces ideas for another Riff Off at the end of the semester (this time as part of a party the BU Harmonics were, allegedly, hosting), or sometimes simply to get the freshmen ready for the administration and management knowledge needed to run the Bellas next year when their seniors graduated but, on the whole, it was a lot quieter than when Aubrey demanded daily practices.

Actually, that last part hadn't quite changed. Aubrey took her pledge to teach Beca the piano very seriously. If Beca wanted to progress, she'd need to be constantly trying at it. Since Aubrey couldn't apparently trust Beca to practice of her own accord, she arranged for the two of them to meet and practice. (It was fair point, Beca conceded, when her halls and the nearest pianos were a cold twenty minute walk apart and only ever free in the mornings when Beca would rather be having a lie in; there were a lot of budding pianists around school). In a way, Beca's routine hadn't changed in the slightest. It was just, these days, instead of rehearsing _a cappella_ with Aubrey, she was practicing the piano.

Aubrey approached lessons with a kind of intensity that put Beca on edge. It was something in the way Aubrey would stare intently at her hands, or arrange her fingers on the keys or tilt her head whenever Beca deigned to ask a question. It was something a whole lot different from the way Chloe used to correct her dance choreography. It also had the unfortunate side effect of making her fingers a lot less compliant than they usually were.

Beca swore that, when she was typing, those fingers could deliver pinpoint accuracy and at killer speeds to boot. But here, in a hall ringing with memories of her first year at college with Aubrey breathing down her neck (sometimes literally, as that was the only way to observe both her hand position and the sheet music at the same time), Beca's fingers just did not want to listen to her brain. They fumbled over the keys and crashed against each other. It did not make for the best piano playing.

"It's a D, Beca," Aubrey corrected for the umpteenth time that afternoon. "At the end of the phrase, your right pinky should be hitting the D, not the C." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "It's just an octave. I know you say your hands are small, but I've seen ten-year-olds hold that chord better than you."

"It's a lot of octaves," Beca protested. "The tempo's fast too, especially for sixteenth notes."

"You picked the song," Aubrey said. "Not my problem."

Beca grumbled again. Aubrey alternated between berating every tiny thing she did and totally ignoring Beca's attempts improve. Or maybe she just ignored Beca's excuses. It was hard to tell how involved she really was in the whole thing. Part of Beca thought she was just doing it all as a favour to Chloe. Aubrey struck her as the kind of person who'd fulfill promises to the utmost of her ability, irrespective of how much she enjoyed the ride there.

Okay, so maybe complaining was a little out of line. Aubrey'd taken out a lot of time to teach Beca, even with all the stress associated with graduation. At any rate, Beca was improving so, whatever Aubrey's teaching MO was, it was working and Beca's proficiency with the piano far outstripped her ability with the guitar. (Her hand just refused to make the weird claw shapes needed to play the different chords on that thing…)

She messed up the right hand part again so Aubrey made her play just that part alone, very slowly, until it was all solid. THen, she played it once more at regular tempo, still fine. But when it came to combining the two…

At the harsh clash of notes, Beca winced. Aubrey crinkled her nose in distaste.

"Let's move on to the next part," Aubrey sighed. "Over practice is actually a thing, sadly. Maybe you'll nail it tomorrow."

Beca's understanding of the following section was much better. But, the next day, she still couldn't will her finger to hit that D. Or the next day. Or they next day. Or the day after that.

* * *

"This is getting ridiculous," Aubrey said. It must have been weeks into the lessons, but all the times felt blurry to Beca now. It just felt like something they always did.

Piano lessons with Aubrey were not as bad as Beca thought they'd be. In their own strange way, they'd become kind of enjoyable. Aubrey was always fixated on the work, but more and more often, as Beca's progress grew, she'd offer encouraging words alongside an amusing anecdote about her childhood, her day, anything really. Beca would joke back and, in those moments, things felt easy.

This, though. This was not easy. This was a four bar phrase of a stupid melody line that Beca could not play in the slightest.

"It's a D," Aubrey said. "For the last time, play the D."

"I know it's a D," Beca groused. "I can read sheet music, I can tell it's a D."

"If you know it's a D, then play it."

"I'm trying."

"Clearly not that hard if your hand just ends up at C all the time!"

Beca tried to reconcile the Aubrey who was belittling any progress Beca made, dismissing it as infantile and inept, with the Aubrey who had, in their first week, helped Beca understand the weight and response of the piano, much heavier than the plastic of her keyboard, by gentling pressing her fingers down into the keys and letting the sounds echo around the room.

"Jeez, chill! I'll get it," Beca said. Aubrey softened a little at that, and her eyes said something like 'I'm sorry' even if her pride wouldn't let her get the words out. Beca had seen that look plenty of times before, but usually at her own reflection in the mirror. She tried to push the thought out of her mind. "I'll play the stupid D, already, alright?"

"Take it from the top," Aubrey barked.

Beca glared back, but complied.

* * *

"Sorry I'm late," Beca said, panting as she jogged in to the rehearsal hall. "Jesse just cornered me on my way here, and we got talking and I lost track of time."

"…It's fine," Aubrey said. "It's only five minutes. It doesn't matter."

"Aubrey Posen ignoring my tardiness? Will wonders never cease!"

"Just play," Aubrey said.

If that had been the only time Beca was late, maybe things would have gone very differently.

* * *

"You're late again," Aubrey regarded coolly. She didn't glance at the clock mounted high on the wall, but Beca knew she was meant to look there.

"Uh, yeah, sorry," she said.

"Sorry? I've been waiting around here for an hour."

"Yes, I know and I'm sorry. I just had a late night and crashed at Jesse's place since Benji was out with this girl he met, can you believe Benji found a girl—?"

"You keep talking but I don't hear any explanations about why you're late."

"Oh, yeah, sorry. I was at Jesse's room, and then I overslept because he's a jerk who doesn't remember what you tel him to do if you don't remind him. Then I had to run to my place to get the sheet music so I ended up taking a pretty bad detour so—"

"I don't care," Aubrey said. "Just don't let it happen again."

'Crashing with Jesse or being late?' Beca wondered, but didn't voice.

* * *

"Again?" Aubrey said? Really? Again? You still don't seem to understand it's not a C sharp."

"It's a D! It's a D! I _know_ it's a D! You don't have to keep pointing it out!"

"If you were really capable of recognising your own mistakes, you'd have fixed them by now," Aubrey said tersely. "Are you even taking this seriously or do you just like wasting my time?"

"Wasting _your_ time? You're the one who keeps calling for 'breaks' just to take shots at how I play!"

"Well they're making you play better aren't they? Or does the great Beca Mitchell not need any help with her music?"

"Why are you trying to pick a fight?" Never mind the fact that baiting Beca with a challenge really did make her step up her game. This was different from the way Aubrey usually riled her up. This was personal. "I asked you for help? Do you just want to make me say it? Want me to admit you're better or something?"

"Maybe I'd just like to know the reason why you can play the rest of this song perfectly, but mess up on one note in a bar you can handle quite well just by itself. Maybe I'd like to know if you're mocking me."

"That doesn't even make sense! How can me playing wrong be mocking you?"

"What? I'm not good enough a teacher for you? Just a few minutes ago you seemed fine!"

"And just a few moments ago you weren't acting totally crazy!"

"What is your _problem_?"

"What's _your_ problem?" Beca hissed. "First you're happy to help, then you can't stop getting mad at me and now this? What the hell do you want from me, huh!?"

"The D, Beca! I want the D!"

The moment after she blurted it out, Aubrey flushed an unseemly shade of red and covered her mouth with her hands, eyes shut in sheer embarrassment.

Beca licked her lips. It was the only sound to shatter the stillness of the room. "So, you want _my_ D, huh?" She tried to calm the heat that was spreading to her own face. "You know, back in that first practice, I was only joking about that toner being my—"

Beca kept searching Aubrey's face for any sign of a comeback or a quip to shoot down the banter. Instead, there was only growing discomfort mixed with something that looked suspiciously like— Wait. Did Aubrey just glance at her crotch? No. No way. She couldn't be serious?

"I have to go!" Aubrey suddenly declared. "We'll— Come— We'll, uhm, come back— fin— finisher this later."

"Wait! Aubrey," Beca called. "Do you actually—"

"Practice dismissed!" Aubrey said, and bolted out the room.

'Huh,' Beca thought. 'Interesting.'


	2. Chapter 2

"You're left-handed," Aubrey said, storming into the rehearsal hall the way she usually did.

After their last session, Beca had been unsure if the blonde was going to be present for the piano lesson. That worry had clearly been unfounded. If there was ever a word that summed up Aubrey, it would be reliable.

Still, Aubrey seemed more flustered than usual. Beca hadn't seen her this tense in weeks, way back, before the ICCAs. There was a buzz of frazzled, lingering energy about her and her fingers twitched impatiently. 'Agitated' was the word.

"So," Aubrey said, clearing her throat. "I figured it out. You're left-handed and Chloe's right-handed."

"So...?" Beca said.

"So, naturally, Chloe owns a right-handed guitar. If you had tried to learn on a left-handed guitar, you would not have had near as much difficulty picking up the technique."

"I don't think that was the problem," Beca replied. "My hand just doesn't like holding down chords on that thing. And anyway, how would using my weaker hand make pressing the strings down any easier?"

"It feels weird if you use the wrong hand. It's not a question of dominance," Aubrey said and then flushed at the accidental innuendo. She did her best to soldier on despite. "If you feel uncomfortable with the instrument, you can't succeed with it and that's where you it a wall with the guitar."

Beca didn't like where this was going. "I'm comfortable with the piano."

Aubrey coughed again. "The piano was your last-ditch attempt to learn an instrument when plans with the guitar fell through. Now that we've identified the problem, there's no need to lower your standards so you can-"

"It's _not_ lowering my standards," Beca said levelly. "I've come to really enjoy the piano. It's not what I expected and it's pretty great. Different from the guitar but in a really, really good way."

There was a metaphor here that she could keep milking, but Beca hoped Aubrey would catch on without her having to resort to a shoe-horned in turn of phrase. Sure the piano seemed cumbersome and classical and painfully traditional: you couldn't drag it around to parties because it stood steady where it was, it was steadfast and sturdy, it had an air of traditional elegance but could still make upbeat, modern sounds. The piano didn't have the guitar's casual ease, the mass appeal, maybe that sense of immediate romance, but it was rewarding in its own right and the whole image was getting a little too cheesy for Beca's taste. She _really_ hoped Aubrey wouldn't make it come to that.

"You'd suit the guitar," Aubrey said. "Better than the piano, anyway."

"But I _like_ the piano," Beca said, standing up from the stood and facing Aubrey straight on.

"You're just saying that."

"No, I'm not. I really do."

"You don't have to be polite about it. I don't need to be condescended to."

"Why is it so hard to believe I like the piano?"

"Well, for starters, you sure don't know how to _play_ it."

"Oh, because we're all prodigies that have been hammering away at the thing since before we could walk!"

"And here's where it all comes out! How can you really try and convince anyone you like the piano when _this_ is the kind of thing you say? You make it seem like every lesson I gave you was torture."

"Maybe if you'd been paying attention you'd get that I've been trying to tell you I liked your piano lessons!"

"Sure you did," Aubrey drawled. "The same way anyone just _loved_ being drilled by a stuck-up music snob!"

"That's not what I called you!"

"It seemed pretty implicit to me!"

"Can't you just get it past your thick head? I _like_ spending time with you!"

Aubrey didn't have a reply for that. She swallowed. "You don't mean that." It sounded more like she was trying to convince herself.

In the midst of all the heated words, Beca found she'd stepped towards Aubrey, even if she didn't quite remember the details of it. They stood, face-to-face, barely an arm's length apart. At this distance, Beca could see Aubrey's green eyes shine with moisture.

"I really do," Beca said. "I like spending time with you. I like _you_. Even if you just, uh, like the D."

She hoped a little joke would help Aubrey ease up a little bit, but, of course, she overestimated Aubrey Posen's sense of humor. Or maybe just underestimated her sense of embarrassment. Whatever the cause, the comment made Aubrey's face light up redder than a Christmas display. Her eyes snapped away from Beca's and she jerked backwards, like a rabbit about to bolt.

Panicking, Beca reached out and grabbed her wrist before she could leave. "Hey, okay, so maybe that was too soon," she said. "But I really do mean it, Aubrey."

Aubrey's mouth was set in a thin line of a frown. Quietly, not quite meeting Beca in the eye, she said, "This better not be a joke."

"I'm not that much of a jerk."

"It really doesn't seem that way," Aubrey said. Annoyance flittered back on her face and her voice became a little more icy. "Anyone who just deciedes to change a set-list in the middle of a performance without any input from-"

It was then Beca decided the best way to shut Aubrey up was to kiss her. She really wasn't in the mood for an argument and every attempt she'd made to try and reason with Aubrey had ended in a more fighting. Aubrey stood by evidence and action, not words and floaty things like feelings, so Beca thought this would be definitive a proof as any.

The kiss was a messy, inelegant thing - nothing to write home about, but it sent a pang of heat through Beca's chest. Their lips were crushed awkwardly together and their teeth clattered with the force Beca had put into it. She had to drag Aubrey down to meet her face by the collar of her shirt, even when she was standing on the tiptoes of her boots and, god, even if it was a amateur hack job of a first kiss, that height difference was turning Beca on more than it probably should have.

She ran her tongue over Aubrey's bottom lip, and apparently that was pushing it, because she felt Aubrey's hands (hands that somehow found their way to Beca's waist) suddenly tighten before they shoved Beca back.

"What the hell?" Aubrey spat. Her blush was even more intense now from a mix of anger and, Beca hoped it wasn't too cocky to say, arousal. "You can't just- All of a sudden- How can you just expect me to- With no warning-!"

"Aubrey!" Beca shouted. She took a step forward, closing the distance between them and grabbed firm fistfuls of Aubrey's shirt. "Shut up."

Her grip was secure and tight and when she felt confident Aubrey wouldn't run away (not when she was staring down, utterly confused at her like that) she pulled her down for another heated kiss.

This time it was better coordinated. Their nosed smacked into each other, but Aubrey, maybe a little too dazed from the last time, negotiated their mouths together. The realisation that Aubrey was _kissing her back_ made her unreasonably giddy and grip Aubrey's shirt tighter, pulling her in deeper, closer. She sucked on Aubrey's lower lip and revelled in the shiver that went down her spine at the quiet sound of Aubrey's groan. She shuddered as she felt Aubrey's fingertip trailing up and down her sides, a burning trail of touches.

Aubrey broke the kiss again but it was gentler, accompanied by a gasp for air. "This better not be a joke," she mumbled. "Or I'll make good on the promise with the wolves."

As much as she liked Aubrey flustered and surprised, Beca thought it was even hotter when Aubrey got like this - bitchy and a little bit cold, scathing remarks and even more scathing tongue.

"I wouldn't dream of it," she said with a wicked grin.

Aubrey's breath hitched at the sight. Beca used to opportunity to push her back against the piano. Aubrey grunted as the edge dug into her back, a noise that soon turned into a moan as one Beca's hands slid underneath the cool cotton of her blouse to try and reach for the clasp of a bra.

"Wait," Aubrey said, panting. "Are you sure you want to-?"

"I've got you pinned up against a piano with a hand up your shirt," Beca said. "I'm pretty fucking sure I want to do this."

"No," Aubrey said. "Are you sure you want to do this now? Here? We're just going a little fast and I don't want you to have any regrets about-"

"Aubrey," Beca interrupted once more, heart hammering in her chest. "You talk too much."

She crushed their lips together again. This time it was different. Better. This time it was months of heated stares and biting remarks and words that were hurled like javelins, straight for the heart all coming to head. It was weeks of hands on hands, tracing the edges of piano keys, skin on skin, pulse against pulse. Days of wonder and regret. Everything they'd been waiting for distilled into a second. Chemistry.

Aubrey was breathing heavily, eyes dark and clear. Her hands stilled and she whispered, "Someone could see."

"Let them," Beca murmured into the shell of Aubrey's ear, reveling at the way it made her shudder. "I think it's hot."

Taking advantage of Aubrey's surprise once more, she tugged the blonde's shirt up and then, finally, Aubrey cordoned on to the signal and raised her arms, swatting Beca's hands away and pulling the offending piece of clothing off herself before dropping it neatly under the piano in a fluid motion. Her bra followed, smoothly gliding off her shoulders. It was so very like Aubrey: economy of movement and efficiency in purpose. In other words, the most arousing striptease Beca had ever seen.

"Don't just stand there," Aubrey said. "You've talked yourself up quite a bit. Now I'd like some proof you weren't just bluffing."

Beca took a step towards her, fingers greedily seeking out flesh, but Aubrey shot her a icy glare back and stopped her with a hand pressed solid, disapproving, against her chest.

"Geez, what is it now? I thought we were going to get one with the proving?"

"Quid pro quo," Aubrey said, gesturing to Beca's shirt and, probably, the rest of her clothes in general. It was a reasonable enough request for sure, but suddenly aware of Aubrey's stare, Beca felt irrationally self-conscious as her fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt.

She tugged them up like she usually did to get changed but then paused. There really wasn't much of a show in getting changed like you were shopping in a department show and that was ridiculous.

"Can't _you_ just-?"

"I want to watch," Aubrey declared.

Something in Beca's stomach coiled tight. The previous bluster she'd displayed when she told Aubrey she was fine with doing it in a semi-public space was alarmingly absent. She yanked the shirt down and tried again, this time peeling it up slowly like in that one porno she watched at a high school party (or the closest approximation of mimicking it she could make). Only the high school anecdote totally ruined her concentration and she wondering if she looked ridiculous, pausing again as the shirt was just passing over her head. Stopping of there just made it worse since Beca _knew_ anyone would look ridiculous with a shirt pulled half-over, arms above their head. She consoled herself with the thought that, at least, she couldn't see Aubrey's expression at her show.

Finally deciding she'd committed to the process, she eased her rest of her shirt of slowly, trying to stretch languidly and give Aubrey an eyeful. She didn't know what to do next and, as the last part of the shirt slipped out of her arms, lamely held the garment in her hand.

Aubrey looked amused. She had a faint smile on her face like she was trying to keep it polite. Her face was still red with arousal but Beca had the inkling feeling that she wasn't really keeping any of that going personally.

What next, jeans or bra? Beca bit her lip, thinking about it. The thinking must have gone on longer than she expected though, because Aubrey rolled her eyes.

"Getting bored," Aubrey said and she slipping a hand underneath her skirt and teased down her underwear, leaving it halfway down her legs, bunched up at the knees for Beca to see: a silk and lace number that was a deep shade of blue.

Beca swallowed, hands suddenly frozen, all bravado far from her mind.

"You're not going to make me entertain myself now, are you?" Aubrey hummed. She lent back against the piano with one hand, craning her neck and the other ducked back beneath her legs, moving behind the skirt in even, smooth movements.

Imagination really was better than thought, because the sight of Aubrey hand, hidden behind a curtain of fabric summoned an unintelligible from Beca's throat: something like a growl, deep and dark. Aubrey's eyes challenged her back, glancing over her jeans and bra and Beca threw all pretense of seduction to the wind.

Aubrey smirked and crooked a finger in her direction: all come-hither eyes and hands.

Beca didn't need the signal. She pounced to close the distance, crushing her mouth against Aubrey's.

Then, much to her embarrassment, it went very fast.

Beca panted, chest heaving up and down. Aubrey's breathing was a little more ragged too, but far more even: like the difference between a marathon runner and your average joe after a race down to the donut shop. Aubrey took in the sight with a critical eye.

"What?" Beca said, raising an eyebrow.

"It's nothing important," Aubrey said, trying to cover her giggles with a hand like a Gothic Romance heroine simpering behind a lace fan.

"Come on, tell me." Beca nudged her elbow gently into Aubrey's ribs.

"Okay, okay," Aubrey relented. She looked like she was trying to choke down a laugh. "It's just..."

"Just what?"

Aubrey gestured to Beca's clothes, disheveled and discarded haphazardly through the room, and then at her own, a little creased, but still mostly on and certainly intact.

"Just that you really _still_ can't play the 'piano'."

"For _now_," Beca said, cringing a little at the petulant tone that seeped in.

Aubrey chuckled and sunk down to her knees, hands gripping Beca's hips, face so close she could feel the way Aubrey's breath played against her skin.

"Now, if you'll allow me to demonstrate the proper technique," she began. "You should pay attention. It's a tricky lesson. I may even have to give multiple demonstrations."

It was challenge Beca would be more than happy to take up.


End file.
